


Don't Want The World To See Me

by coupe_de_foudre



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed-centric, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Upgraded Connor | RK900, Romance, Touch-Starved Gavin Reed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coupe_de_foudre/pseuds/coupe_de_foudre
Summary: He wakes up with a sudden shock. The bedsheets covering him are wrinkled. Cold sweat coated his skin, chest rising and falling in a panic and breath audible in the deafening quiet of the room.





	Don't Want The World To See Me

**Author's Note:**

> Another lovely prompt given to me on [Tumblr](https://a-beautiful-struggle-of-life.tumblr.com/), I hope you like it!
> 
> Title from Iris by Goo Goo Dolls.
> 
> Happy reading, snowflakes <3

Everyone experiences nightmares at least once in their life. Maybe as a kid fearing monsters under your bed or trolls terrorising your town. Perhaps even as an adult, darker topics and fears creeping their way into your dreams as you sleep and swallowing all hope as the darkness consumes you.

They don't last long, though, and by the time you wake up you've most likely forgotten it. Sometimes fragments of them remain behind, haunting you when you least expect it. But, for the most part, you'll continue on with your life like normal.

Gavin Reed doesn't get such pleasures; regular nightmares controlling his subconscious mind to the point of sleep deprivation. His bed, empty and cold, taunts him each night. He goes to sleep unsure as to what awaits him on the other side.

It's tough. Most nights he avoids sleeping at all – resorting to caffeine and sugar and hoping he doesn't crash during his shift the next day. He always does. His colleagues have grown used to his strange sleep patterns now, never questioning him and just making sure to stay out of his way when the bags under his eyes look particularly dark.

Some nights he can't stop it, submitting to sleep on his couch, waking up to a cricked neck and cold clothes. Some nights he's so drained that he'll give in and curl up under the covers of his bed, praying that he gets a peaceful rest.

They're awful – the nightmares. Eerily lifelike, with real people and real places and real events. Most of his nightmares are flashbacks of memories, the majority based from his first few years as a detective; when he was reckless and too enthusiastic, landing himself in hospital countless times for more than a simple knife wound.

Snaps of falling from a bridge, thundering rain, icy water crashing over his frail body. That's the nightmare that he's grown most familiar with.

It's the one that came to greet him tonight, he realises, shooting upright from his bed with a violent gasp. The room is dark, too dark, and his heart rate remains an unnatural race in his chest as his eyes try to adjust to his surroundings. Shadows of outlined furniture fade into his vision and he blinks, the muffled sound of a car engine driving past outside enough to pull him through. Back to reality.

His skin still crawls with goosebumps, hairs prickling despite the fact that it's warm summer’s night. He still feels the water, cold and shooting into him like daggers. It all feels too real.

Slipping out from the tangled mess of bedsheets, Gavin padded barefoot across his room – navigating the way through pure memory – and slipped out into the open space of his apartment. His cat was curled up on the armrest of the couch, gentle _purrs_ filling the silence of the place.

He checks the red LED clock propped underneath his TV and isn't surprised to see the numbers 2:36 shone his way. With a sigh, shaking hand running through his hair – which needs a wash, come to think of it – he settles with the fact that he won't be getting anymore sleep tonight.

Which is fucking fantastic, really. What, with his 8-7 shift tomorrow.

Bitter and tired, Gavin slouches into the kitchen to make himself a fresh pot of coffee, pulling out his favourite mug from the cupboard above the sink.

He eventually succumbs to leaning against the kitchen counter, mug in hands, as he watches the hours tick by.

*

Waking up in a cold sweat is definitely not fun. Gavin realised this years ago.

He groaned, stretching out his cramped muscles and clicking his neck side to side, sighing in relief when the tension eased slightly from his body. There was still a throbbing pain coursing through his head, but that couldn't be helped.

The couch wasn't a good place to fall asleep.

He's shaken still, mind replaying moments of his nightmare like a fucking vine – over and over and over again until it was ingrained into his brain like an iron branding. He dug through his jacket, left on the floor by his feet, in search of the half-used pack of Camels that he remembered leaving in there from yesterday's night out with Tina.

The hints of a smile tugged at his lips when his fingers found the packet, pulling it out along with his lighter and heading for the tiny balcony attached to his bedroom. It hardly classed as a balcony, really; enough space for two people and maybe some plant pots, at most.

He flicked the lighter, orange flame flickering with the early morning wind, and brought it up to the end of his cigarette. Inhaling before moving the lighter away and pocketing it again, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes – holding his breath until the smoke began to burn the back of his throat and he gave in, puffing it out through parted lips and watching as grey mingled with blue.

The lit cigarette balanced precariously between his fingers as he moved to lean his arms on the thin, rusted rail of his balcony edge, watching the traffic of people returning home from night shifts and those heading out for an early start, numbing the fragments of shattered dreams from his mind by focusing on such mundane things. It worked, temporarily. At least, until he would inevitably pass out again in a few days time.

*

Not every nightmare leaves him in control of his body. There were the odd few nights that he'd jolt awake, a silent scream in his mind deafening only himself, and the thick blackness of the room would just swallow him whole.

Like tonight.

His fingers curled into the covers thrown haphazardly over his body, twisting and clenching until it hurt. But he wouldn't loosen his grip.

His heart was hammering in his chest, thumping wildly, and all he could do was listen to it as he stared up at the ceiling above him. Black, dark, cold. Alone. He couldn't move.

Paralyzed with fear, eyes blinking slowly, cautiously, as if one simple movement would make this reality slip away and he'd be falling. Falling into the clasps of large hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing mercilessly, an ugly laugh echoing through his mind.

A light flashed. Orange and white and it was so quick that it was gone within the second it arrived. Gavin held his breath.

It was just a car. A car passing by outside, because he was at home. In his apartment. In his bed. He was safe.

Still, his eyes were trained to the ceiling that he could hardly make out, body rigid and still and...he let out his breath, lungs screaming at him. He hadn't even realised. Had forgotten to breathe, like that was a secondary thing in comparison to the importance of remaining where he was from fear of being put in danger again.

“You should get someone to help you. It's not healthy, Gav.” Tina's voice echoed in his mind, a conversation from last week that he still clutched to. He knew he wouldn't get help. He never did.

The thought that someone at least cared was comforting enough, however. Slowly, Gavin released his deathly grip on his bedsheets, limbs falling limp with exhaustion and relief as he blinked up at the ceiling still. He doesn't remember falling back asleep, but then again, he doesn't remember lying there for hours and not moving.

Either way, he felt like shit when he dragged himself out of bed to the sound of his alarm.

*

His stomach lurched, and Gavin was stumbling from the couch to the bathroom in a daze, hand slapped over his mouth in the hopes that it might help in some way. Miraculously, he made it in time, knees hitting the hard floor of the bathroom and leaning over the toilet just as he retched up the contents of his stomach.

A sob slipped from his mouth, back of his hand wiping at the drool and vomit that had dripped down his chin and he collapsed his weight to the floor fully, elbows propped on the rim of the toilet. He held his head in his hands, breath coming in ragged pants.

A sour taste remained in his mouth, acidic and gross. The back of his throat burned raw, and he coughed up another thin stream of vomit with a tired groan.

He avoided thinking about his dream, the gruesome sights that had run through his mind at his weakest point. Just the thought of it caused his stomach to lurch violently again and he sighed, eyes closing.

He remained there for at least an hour, shivering on the bathroom tiles with only the orange glow of the lamp from the other room to keep him company.

*

There was the rare occasion that even the ominous quiet of his apartment was haunting, pushing Gavin outside in the middle of the night following another rude awakening to broken memories and fear-inducing thoughts.

He found comfort, luckily, in trudging through several inches of freshly fallen snow with only his beloved leather jacket to protect him from the harsh cold. With his hands tucked deep in his pockets, hood pulled up to shield his face from the wind (and avoid eye contact with any other loser roaming the streets at 3:43am) he walked aimlessly, watching as new snowflakes coated his shoes.

His body shuddered, cold jeans clinging to his skin and fingers finally going numb after walking around for almost two hours. He should go home, logically. He knew that. But the thought of faces that dark apartment – the emptiness practically smirking at him like a smug fucker – wasn't appealing in the slightest.

Instead, he ventured into a nearby diner open 24/7, shaking the melting snow from himself as he sent a small smile to the waitress that greeted him and slid into an unoccupied booth far from any other customers. Ordering a black coffee and a stack of pancakes soaked in maple syrup, he finally began to feel better. He watches people walk by outside, the sun now beginning to force its way through the night sky and glistening over the white blanket of snow that now covered the city. A tiny, pained smile falls over his lips.

*

He wakes up with a sudden shock, like electricity shooting through his body. The bedsheets covering him are wrinkled, tangling between his legs in the fit that he'd clearly been experiencing. Cold sweat coated his skin, chest rising and falling in a panic and breath audible in the deafening quiet of the room.

He shivered, debating whether it's worth staying in bed or if he should just get up now, not sure whether he wants to face any responsibilities right now. Not in this mind frame.

But, then again, does he want to stay in bed with the ghosts of his dreams?

Strong arms tightening their hold around his waist – which he somehow hadn't registered in his panicked state – snapped him back to reality. Proper reality, not his old excuse of reality.

Things were different now. How had he forgotten?

A gentle tug and Gavin finds himself falling back onto the mattress, body being pulled against a warm heat. He can hear the relaxing _whirs_ of his boyfriend now, the sound calming his heartbeat to a steady pace. His head drops onto a flat chest, nose brushing over the panel in which Nines' thirium pump resided. The shiver that ran through the android pleased him and he nuzzled closer to the heat emitting from the other.

As he closed his eyes, he felt a hand travel up his bare back and fingers run through his hair – damp with sweat, not that Nines cared. Soft coos were murmured into his ear, lips brushing over his cheek and a smile soon spread over his own face as he wrapped an arm over Nines' waist. His legs entwined with the android's, getting impossibly closer to him, needing the comfort and contact more than ever right now.

He almost misses the whispered, “I love you,” spoken into his hair as he finds himself drifting back asleep, snuggled close against his boyfriend with a sickeningly sweet smile plastered over his face. Memories of his nightmare were long gone, disintegrating the moment Nines' fingers had met his hair and he'd remembered that he was safe.

Nights weren't always good; Gavin still suffered from the terrors of his past, but they had grown more bearable with the comforting presence of Nines – someone who loved and cared about him without judging him. Someone that held him whilst he slept and eased him out of nightmares with reassuring touches and gentle kisses pressed over his body and scars. No, nights weren't always good, but the majority of them had improved greatly and Gavin found himself not dreading the sight of his bed anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to send me prompts! Thank y'all that have already sent me some, I've sent hem and I love them and I promise I'll get round to them once I have the time!!
> 
> Love you guys x


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